Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate

by E E Valenciana

  “You can't complain with the deal you got out of this,” the voices lectured. “The airline has given you a free ride, much more than you deserve.” Yes, my financial needs were being well met. My education was being provided. If Cris or I got sick there was health care. The airplanes were always available. I supposed that no one in the company actually cared what arrangements were made for me. I lifted my paycheck and saw a small company letter; I recognized the handwriting of Mr. Lane's secretary. I was to contact Mr. Lane's office at my convenience. My rehab plan had been running efficiently, so what could this be?

  Contacting Barry Lane's office, I hurried to catch the bus back to the executive office and a meeting with my gracious advocate.

  “Yeah, I may be screwed up in the head but I would do anything for Mr. Lane.” I smiled and let the thought linger. “The Kindly Executive Chief and the Lunatic.” It sounded like a bad movie title I once again walked the marble floors. I peeked in on the adjacent offices and noticed that familiar faces were now absent. There was a new regiment of soldiers planning, sharing information and seeing to the needs of the airline. It seemed I had entered a rift in time, like dreams from long ago. I was a full time college student now. These were real employees. Even with the deal I had, I did not feel right.

  Entering Mr. Lane's office I was surprised that there was another gentleman with him, awaiting my arrival.

  “Eduardo. Please come in.” Barry rose to greet me, courteous as ever. “What happened to your head?” The shame overcame me. I began to move about.

  “It is a long story, sir. Really, I am okay.” I quickly focused my attention to the other individual whom I did not know. He seemed friendly enough, an elder gentleman with reddish hair, rimmed bifocals and a look of confidence. He wore the typical executive suit.

  “Ed, this in Robert Wilcox.” I looked at his eyes and tried to read his thoughts. I sensed no hostility. Once seated, Mr. Lane verified the rumor that had been running through the offices and the terminals. He was leaving to enjoy a well-deserved retirement.

  “Bob here will be seeing to your needs.” Mr. Lane said as the new Executive Vice President extended his hand.

  “My door is always open to you, Ed.” I shook Wilcox's hand but had my suspicions. Yet, I did not worry; our contract stated that Doctor Ramljak made all the final decisions. As I sat with my superiors I mused that Doctor Joe would not be too pleased with me these days.

  When Barry Lane walked into the sunset, he earned the right to walk away with a feeling of great accomplishment and satisfaction. The airline was just days away from closing the door when he took the reins. The company was now financially sound. He had taken on a great task and completed it, leaving a few extra bucks in the pockets of us all, the associates and owners of the airline.

  At home I refocused my attention on Doctor Ramljak. I had left for Europe abruptly without letting him in on my itinerary, as I was sure he would frown on my adventure in Pamplona. My forehead still bore a bruise where the bull kicked some sense into me. Prior to my leaving for Europe I had also missed a session, something I had never done in the previous years. I knew my behavior was irrational and I was not smart enough or brave enough to try to deceive the wise man. I had just avoided him and ran off.

  “Where were you on the 29th of last month?” Finally pressed to face the music I sat placidly facing his inquiry. I squirmed a bit, there was no use trying to lie my way out of my indiscretions.

  “On the 29th I was in Amsterdam smoking kief.” My usually mirthful mentor tilted his round head forward looking at me, just above the frame with his glasses with his eyebrows raised high. He hesitated a bit then began to inquire more.

  “Where were you on the 9th of last month?” He looked down at the calendar atop his wooden desk.

  “On the morning of the 9th I was half-intoxicated from two solid days of drinking and dodging bulls through the streets of Pamplona.” The physician once again just stared. The room grew very silent and I grew nervous with my mentor's silence. “I even got kicked by one nasty critter while I was there.” I leaned forward so he could inspect the bruise. He was not impressed.

  “Are you abusing substances?”

  “Yes,”

  “Are you abusing alcohol?”

  “Yes,”

  “Are you out of control when abusing these substances?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does your ex-wife know you are abusing these substances?”

  “No.”

  “Does anyone at the airline know of this behavior?”

  “No.”

  “Is this the reason you have missed your appointments?”

  “Yes.” There was another pause. Dr. Joe's demeanor changed to that of a healer.

  “You know that these substances disturb your level of adjustment.” I remained silent, head lowered in shame.

  “Such activities are hijacking the pleasure centers of your brain. You will be worn down and suffer.”

  “Maybe that is what I deserve.”

  “What about this program you received from the airline? Isn't that worth fighting for?”

  “Hey, my grades at LMU have been solid. Not bad for a guy who had been out of school for so many years.” I tried to deflect the truth.

  “Do you like your airline?” The question hit me. I raised my head and stared at the man squarely. Was he questioning my loyalty after all what I went through in the name of that company? “Look here Doc, I was branded that morning in October of '79. Even if I wished to distance myself from that name and logo it would be impossible. My only alternative is to somehow find comfort in my loyalty. The image of Barry Lane kept me loyal but now he is leaving.” I fell silent and lost my train of thought. Dr. Joe stared. I had not answered his question.

  “Hell yeah, I care for that company.” I continued, “I am also very angry with the airline.”

  “Why are you angry at them?”

  “I am angry that they backed away and did not stand firm and issue a challenge to Mexico's final report. I am angry that they lied to the families of my crew-mates. I am angry that they swept the whole thing away, very neatly. I am angry that I had to be witness to all of this and more.” I seemed to be speaking to more people than my physician. I looked to see the dark silhouette of Dr. Ramljak against the glistening sunlight as he listened intently.

  “I see bright colors and the logo of one of our aircraft lifting off the concrete, soaring up into the sky, catching great lift from the streaming winds coming off the ocean. Then, at night, the twisted flaming metal of the craft glows. There is a red mixture of heat and blood. I am angry at my airline for condemning me to these memories.” I became flustered. “I should have gone with my crew!” The doctor jerked forward.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had the right to fade away with them.”

  “Explain.”

  I hesitated for a moment trying to fathom the dimension of death. My first thoughts were imagining my poor mother at the foot of my grave, with her good heart and pure intentions. I most likely would have been remembered by the family with a photo, dressed in my F/A uniform, placed proudly on the dining room wall. Through her faith, prayers and love, I perhaps would have been raised to near sainthood, though most family members and friends would know better. My thought then wandered to Cristiano; I instantly began to weep.

  “This battle you are waging,” my doctor rose up to offer me a tissue as he spoke. “This battle with whom you refer to as Muerto? You know, this type of behavior is to his advantage. Maybe we can figure out a way to get back on the positive.” My generous healer let it be known that he was along for the ride with me, to the very end. For a man condemned, I truly was blessed.

  The doctor insisted he have a tighter rein on me and rightfully so, with more frequent appointments. He also encouraged me to return to the gym in earnest.

  “I want you to resist going out of the country for the time being,” he requested. I flinched, but he made it clear that I li
mit my travels.

  “What about Kauai?”

  “What?”

  “What if I promise to limit my travels to Kauai?” Dr. Joe thought for a moment.

  “Ok, but no jungle man!”

  “Okay, I'll try to straighten up my act.”

  I drove down the 405 freeway heading to the South Bay with a piece of resurrected resolve. I took my studies seriously although I was not sure where such a degree would lead me. I doubled my efforts in the gym. The demand for a disciplined routine helped to ground me. But life's events, even in the most positive of circumstances, delivered Muerto's scorn.

  The TV screamed the tale of Japan Airlines Flight 123. The 747 was crippled by a blast, then floundered across the skies above the Japanese homeland. The crew had no sense of direction or the ability to correct the damage to the ship. Muerto would toy with the victims for some time, like the sadist that he is, before slamming the jumbo jet into the ridge of a high mountain. Instantly, I was back on the tarmac at Benito Juarez Airport. Five hundred and five people perished along with fifteen crew members. Trying to deal with the trauma and flashbacks was particularly bad. Soon, the media blared once more with the destruction of Air India 747 Flight 182 which blew up over the Atlantic. It was obliterated along with three hundred and twenty-nine victims. Muerto was busy gathering bounty in the friendly skies. My pain had me believe that he was still annoyed by the fact that I had slipped by. Once again, Antimundo emerged, filled with hatred and a desire for vengeance.

  Death was not finished. He orchestrated one of his malignant occurrences nearby. An Aeromexico DC-9 on descent into LAX had its tail sheared off by a Piper PA-28-181 Archer. The doomed planes dived down; the DC-9 while in flames plummeted into the local community of Cerritos. Sixty-seven in the planes and an additional fifteen on the ground paid the price. The scenes from the TV screen put me right back in there, next to the flames, the charred bodies. My ears filled with the endless cries of the damned. I clearly inhaled the odor of jet fuel and the stench of burning bodies. I tried to restrain the anger but it embraced my entire being. That night I discovered a 24-hour weight room, a place to ease my guilt while others were incinerated. I listened to the reports of how the loved ones lamented. Soon they would be infected with the same pestilence I bore.

  Lucky for me there stood Joseph Ramljak, my faithful mentor. If there was any worthwhile result from this disaster it was that I had Barry Lane and Doctor Ramljak.

  “Watch and learn,” I would murmur to myself. My spirits would be lifted when I found myself in their company, sensing their honesty and good character. Even in my warped state I was grateful for what they represented: a possibility of exiting this endless envelop of pain. I wanted to succeed, especially for Cris. There was no other option. Not to do so meant a long ruinous first class seat to self-destruction.

  Chapter XXI

  Al Greenleaf now ran the airline. A strong leader with feet planted on the solid block of recovery, he hoped for a great future for the company. Yet, this in itself brought about new threats in the minds of the associates. Financially weak airlines were being cannibalized by bigger, stronger companies. Many of the memorable airlines that were there at the dawn of commercial aviation ceased to exist. Our now healthy airline, with all her lucrative destinations, made the big boys lick their chops. One such suitor who arrived at Avion Drive was an economically solid company based in the south. Their domestic system stretched mostly through the eastern sector of the country. Our beloved airline would be a fine addition, doubling the southern company's current reach. People were put into play, jostling for the right time and right approach to make things happen.

  For the rest of the summer I would retain primary physical custody of Cris and, since I had no work hours or classes, I could devote all my time and attention to his needs: a blessing for us both. I adhered to Doctor Ramljak's advice to stay away from international destinations, and rented a house in Poipu, Kauai. Cris and I indulged in a playground of a majestic setting. The nurturing spirits of the island soothed and eased my troubled soul.

  Sofia would have Cris one weekend during that period. This was not a problem as Cris and I would simply board another DC-10 from HNL to LAX. Cris visited his mother and I visited Doctor Joe. It seemed as though things just might be falling into place. The guiding light was Joseph Ramljak.

  “One day you will control it,” the prudent physician encouraged me. “You can keep it in a box if you wish, file it away and if you deem it right, take it out anytime. Then, close it up and file it away once more.” The jovial man with his plump features and gray mustache approved of my recent efforts. It meant so much to me. On that Monday morning we would soon be lifting into the skies once more, back to the island. When I finally did returned to the mainland Cris was returned to Sofia and I prepared myself for my final semester of school.

  There would be instances when I did choose to open the box and listen to the CVR Recording. I wanted to make an intellectual attempt to satisfy my need to know what physically happened. I also studied the APHA report by Captain Ron Banner. He showed compassion for my plight. From the start, the report, certainly the best written to that point regarding the demise of 2605, made it clear that the investigators' inability to get on the grounds of the crash hindered any complete, detailed explanation of the truth. It was truly a mystery and the healthier I got, the greater my understanding developed.

  At the conclusion of the CVR recording there remained the sound of multiple voices joined in unison for the last split second of the tape. There were only three individuals in the cockpit at the time of the impact. I was befuddled. Perhaps it was an electrical glitch. With time I began to feel I understood what transpired at every point of our journey that Halloween morning. The carefully designed aviation industry safety system that should have prevented our crash, failed. The mistakes were obvious. Even this former flight attendant could see the truth. The sad part was that I was but one of a few who knew, and the powers that be expected me to remain silent.

  My life became fruitful and I began to believe I could toss to the wayside the events of that horrible day. This “second life” now offered a glimmer of possibilities. I filed away all the material I had accumulated over the years related to the incident. I carefully documented all that had happened up to that point in an organized manner. I turned my attention to trying to understand this strange disease of PTSD. I learned that it was a lonely ailment and writing provided another tool to ease the burdens. Then my nemesis returned in the Fall.

  Like it or not, October 31st will always be unique. On the first anniversary of the crash, I was confused, not knowing how to react. Would I mourn for my crew mates? Do I allow myself to grin widely, embracing the concept of just how wonderful a gift I was given? That was what most people thought I should focus on. I did not mourn nor would I for many years. I did nothing but feel enormous shame, anger and hatred.

  Halloween became a growing burden. It was unrelenting as the retail displays rammed it down my throat and Muerto was pleased. I would make preparations weeks in advance to lessen the impact. Now, with Doctor Joe's help, I was going to meet this year's encounter with a renewed resolve; for I had an appointment with him on October 31st . There would be no stinking, rotten dive somewhere in a distant corner of purgatory where I would drowning in despair, lost in Antimundo's violence.

  “This year I am going to beat it.” I found confidence and believed I had a chance to slip by for another 12 months. In the past the incident had become the master of Halloween, but now I planned to turn the tables. I was going to remain positive. I filled my mind with visions of Cris in his little pirate's outfit.

  “This day should be about living.”

  I felt energetic and reassured as I pulled off the 405 freeway at Westward. The previous night had been free of miserable nightmares. There were no cries from the child Javier, ablaze. There was no visit from Reina with pleas for repentance from my life of mayhem. I drove the convertible coupe with th
e top down, enjoying a sunny day, to my appointment with Doctor Joe.

  I grabbed the brass knob of the heavy green door and shoved my hip into it as I had done numerous times. I was stopped cold. The barrier was unmovable. I backed away puzzled, rubbing my hip which was now sore. It was the right time and certainly the right day. Perhaps the Doc was running late or just forgot? I sat on the floor not really knowing what to do.

  “You think you're so smart, got everything figured out. Well, you don't.” The paranoia slowly began to creep into my conscience.

  “It's October 31st, the day people become dead.” The voices emerged like a vicious adversary. Doctor Ramljak will be here soon, I told myself, and my fear will be proven needless. I calmed myself and sat on the floor but my physician did not arrive, nor did my fear subside. After an hour I could stand it no more. I ran down the steps to the photo shop that sat below his office. One hour development was their specialty or so their large sign declared.

  “You got a pay phone?” I asked of the proprietor. He simply pointed to the telephone on the wall.

  “Yes, I am a patient of Doctor Ramljak. I had an appointment an hour ago but the door is locked. Can you page him?” The young woman hesitated then put me on hold.

  “What is your name?” she asked with a bit of concern. Perhaps I got the days wrong? Wait a minute, I thought. This was Halloween and there is no doubt that we made the appointment well in advance.

  “Ah, Mr. Valenciana, Doctor Ramljak is not available.” The statement was short.

  “Is that all you are going to tell me? What do you mean? I have an appointment.” My impatience grew. “Listen, is something wrong?” I became insistent. “Look, this man is my doctor but he is also my dear friend, I have the right to know.” Once again I was placed on hold.

  “Damn it, what the hell is going on!”

  “Mr. Valenciana?”

  “Yes?” I became more hopeful.

  “Ah, Mr. Valenciana?”